


Sweat

by Dale_Gardener



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-12 03:05:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/120068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dale_Gardener/pseuds/Dale_Gardener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hutch breaks a sweat.  Starsky likes this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweat

Everybody sweats – in the heat, when they're scared, when they're pushing themselves physically. Everybody sweats, but every body is different. Some people, they barely break a sweat when it's one hundred in the shade. Some people they drag out a handkerchief and wipe their face for one flight of stairs. Everybody is different.

Take the body that's laid out on the bed right now. (And I intend to, thank you very much. Every sweet inch of it.) His hair is so fine that whenever he sweats it gets lank real quick, darkens up. Not that it matters, I can brush it back, all the better to see the flush on his skin, and the way that the pupils of his eyes get real dark.

When he's thinking about things, he can be kinda prim; he'll roll his eyes at you like a maiden aunt who just heard a fart or a disagreeable word. But you get him engaged, life and death, or sex, just make him feel, and he lets loose. With sex, yeah, he lets loose with me, because he knows who's in charge right now, and it ain't my Blintz.

"Starsk...." Sure, babe, talk to me. But I won't talk back. I'm too busy gently pushing one long arm up the bed, my hands following the muscle, before I stoop and just rest my face against his pit. First time I did that, he was the most embarrassed I'd ever seen him - and we'd done some good, filthy stuff together by then. Why that particular move was the one that made him feel weird, I don't know. But I still like to do it, and I can feel him tense, because there's something about it that turns him on mighty fiercely now that he's used to it.

I've seen him fight for his life on a hot street, and the damp streak runs down his back afterwards and stains his shirt, stinks him up with the smell of effort and fear. He showered not so long ago, but he breaks a sweat when he's turned on too. Now, I just nose under his arm, where it's damp and smells like him, where strands of hair rub gently against my nose, where his skin is so sensitive. And then I show him that I want him rolled over, and he goes with a sigh that's like music. That's my boy.

My finger runs down the long, lean line of his spine. It's just a little slippery, and he moans. The skin on that pretty ass is still smooth and dry and I fondle it, fill my hands with it. Then I lay myself down across him. He can take it. He likes it, likes the way that I am all over him, and I lick his neck to feel him shudder, and rub myself along that warm skin; I think that I might break a little sweat myself, y'know? Because it's him, it's us, and there ain't nothing like it.


End file.
